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leaf after leaf floats,
like the moments of our living,
until the last one touches ground
leaves linger
slowly baring branches
this year a late fall
the fields are dirt
again,
the harvest come and gone
again,
the earth is still, awaiting spring
again
flying wing of geese
honks its way south,
in their wake: winter
the sun moves faster,
last summer blossoms
float into fall
she,
not being here,
neither needs me nor feeds me
now that I’m 64
black and white -
crows, egrets
in the rice fields, feeding
one-legged jay,
hops, pecks,
screeching flies off
east flying crows
caw & caw,
announce the fall of night
one-legged jay
scruffier than the rest
hops about scattered seed
where in a world out of balance do we find center but in this moment?
in many mirrors,
in many windows,
my reflection…growing older
affable cop on day off
shares tricks of trade
with violators
dusk in the valley,
crows gather, flock,
10,000 caws
I’m just a guy,
my head turns as she walks by,
I’m just a guy
inside the gift shop
two captive birds
sing for each other
while I live life as a local, I sometimes experience it as a tourist
always unaware -
how strong the desire for control -
until a moment of letting go
reading the news,
reflecting on my life
(if even for a petty reason)…
gratefulness
all jays
under heaven
squawk
thoughts like clouds
break upon the mountain,
pouring rain, chanting birds
after two day blackout
refrigerator no longer hums,
now roars
alone in the blackout,
everyday living, once again –
fragile
morning walk on the greenbelt –
only the dogs, sniffing,
say hello
reading the obituaries,
I wonder,
what will kill me?
qi gong grandmaster sits for photo,
between her fingers,
the lit cigarette
half moon rising,
I wait for a clever line,
and wait…and wait
these days,
even in the heaven worlds,
homeless mine the dumpsters
lovers past fill my thoughts
sweet memories of bittersweet times
making short-ribs and gimchee
at the food court, no Koreans:
Latinos
in my mother’s face I see the origin of my own sorrow
more leaves each day
unfold on next door tree –
spring
an old lover’s laughter
bringing memories
of only the good times
at the top of the hill
a festival of brakelights –
traffic jam
half an inch of banded gold,
louder than all diamonds:
she is his forever
who lives inside stays 35,
who looks back from the mirror
adds another year to the count
dancing on the good foot,
getting down on the one:
white boy lost in the funk
for James Brown r.i.p.
f o g
Chinese couple shuffling
long after the light has turned
falling rain
chanting birds
clouds embrace the mountain
war zone:
little tank s.u.v.’s
rolling down broken streets
morning
tea leaves in the pot awaken…
just before I do
used Zen poems
between the pages:
the receipt of the first owner
thinning light,
thinner hair–
winter
drenched in silence, fog
crickets
beginning the night
one dove
gracing
the giant pine–
sunset
Thanksgiving morning,
reading Zen poets
alone and not…
from my glasses,
tiny spider
spins futile web
when she winked at me, I wasn’t thinking about unrequitable love
bad cafe day–
even at Starbucks
music too loud
watching the deer
graze next door–
ignoring the phone
